Fallen
by The Lonely Assassins
Summary: John a tribute from district 12 finds a alliance in the sociopathic Sherlock Holmes from district 1. Can they both take down James Moriarty the career tribute from district 2? More importantly can they make it out alive? Happy 61st Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in you favour! Johnlock!
1. World Shattered

an: Heyyy ^u^! Well i have never really written a crossover so no flames please! Constructive critisim is very welcome though! I have only finished the hunger games and i am now reading catching fire. So if anything is wrong feel free to tell me! Oh and if it sort of sounds like the book, I have the book beside me to help. John lives is district 12 by the way. Enjoy! Oh and i have never really written a proper sherlock fic so if they seem a little ooc please tell me.

The Fallen

John POV.

I wake up. My body numb from the cold. My blanket snatched cruelly from my grasp. I look up to see my sister. Her breath still reeking of alcohol.

"Get up." She rasped her voice cracking from the amount of alcohol that passes down her god forsaken throat. She used to sing. She had the most amazing voice. So sweet like petals falling into a pond on a summer's day. Not now. The alcohol broke and twisted her voice. A shadow of what it used to be. A shadow of who _**she **_used to be.

She left my room as I got up. I looked at my body in the tiny mirror that used to belong to our mother. It was supposed to go to my sister, but she couldn't care less for what she looked like. She only cares about the bitter liquid that makes her forget this stupid life.

Skinny, Malnourished but well-built all the same. Well certainly fit for this area. Many children walk around like the walking dead. Skeletons. I am better fed than most.

Reaping day. The worst day of the year, for Adults and Children Alike. The day when your children get sentenced to death.

I hastily climb into the cast iron tub, which is slowly but surely rusting around the edges. I poor ice cold water over my head. My body erupts in Goosebumps from the cold touch. I act like a don't care but I do. My mother used to heat up all the water we used for washing. She lovingly boiled it over the fire. I used to watch with curious eyes. She told me never to touch, wait until it had cooled a little. One time I was foolish. I tipped the pot and the boiling water poured over my right shoulder. It was bad. I have a scar that runs deep into my muscles; I stroke it gently thinking of her. Of what could have been. Of what should have been.

It reminds me of that day, 3 years ago. The pain still hasn't gone away. I heard there screams. I will probably carry them for the rest of life. Even after that. The screams of their pain as I tried to get them out. I failed as I always do. A mining explosion. Run root under our home. Blew it to pieces. Along with everyone else's in our street. So many lives were lost that day. People screaming. My mother trapped under the rubble. She died just as I pulled her out.

That day I had gone to the justice building to sign up for tesserae with my sister for company. My parents had forced her to go with me. We wish we had died with them.

My sister's lover Clara had also been killed in the blast. She had been calling to our house, her mother told us. Wondering why Harry was late. She blames me you know. Harry. If I had not signed up for tesserae our life would have been easier. If I had been man enough to go by myself Clara would be alive. She _Hates _me.

We used to live in the better part of district 12. We never really needed tesserae but I felt I was doing something for the family. Now were in the seam. _My fault again…_

I dry myself with a little bit of itchy cloth. I rubbed my skin raw. I pulled on not my normal clothes but my _Reaping Clothes._ A _clean shirt._ What a treat! If I hadn't have been washing this the night before I would fear that my sister was ill. Treating me to such luxuries! We could be in the capitol for all I know! My jeans are mostly clean, apart from the small scuffs at the back. I tuck my blue checked shit into my jeans and fix my drying hair. My blond locks falling in front of my eyes.

Before I know it, it's one o'clock. I make my way to the square with the rest of the children of district 12. They line us up like cattle. Livestock. Reading to be butchered. I stare hard at the little glass ball with over a thousand names in it. Mine is entered in 15 times. Not a lot in a thousand. But still enough chance to be picked.

The mayor and a ridiculous woman walk on stage. Well I say walk, the woman mostly skipped. She is new. I don't know her name. Capitol obviously. What else? The crazy pea green hairdo. The pale white skin. Capitol Fashions. The height of dignity.

The mayor looks nervous as he looks every year. His skin is waxy. I eyes are sunken. Who knows if he will actually be alive next year?

"This is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks."

Every mayor must start the welcoming speech with that. Then he would read out the victors. 61 years we have had one. Yes _one. _ Haymitch Abernathy. A good for nothing drunk. This year he is. You guessed it! Drunk. The struggles to sit on the chair. I have to stop myself from laughing. Haymitch won the last quarter quell. The special hunger games they have every 25 years. He won the 50th but that goes without saying.

The mayor introduces the woman. _Effie trinket! _What a name. Capitol People and their stupid names.

"Happy Hunger games! And may the odds be ever in _your_ favour. She's very happy. Too happy but to most people in the capitol the hunger games is _celebrated_.

"Ladies first!"

She put her hand into the bowl pulling it out at once. Like it was full of snakes.

"Airmet Carphilis!"

Airmet a girl know more than 12 or 13 makes her way shakily onstage. She collapses into tears her blonde hair hiding her face. Effie askes does anyone want to volunteer. No one answers. Like always.

I began thinking of returning home. Having my only meal of the day. Maybe see some friends like mike. Retreat to my little world.

Effie puts her hand into the other ball her hand digging to the very bottom. I don't care. All that I **care about is my little world.**

"_**John Watson"**_

_Then my world came crashing down around me…_

_Tbc._

An: REVIEW! I KNOW YOU WANT TOO! - should i write sherlock view of the reaping?


	2. Hit List

An: HEY! its me again! heres the new chapter i hope you enjoy. No flames please. constructive critism VERY welcome. If they seem a little ooc dont be afraid to correct me! This is my first proper sherlock fanfic with chapers and shiz sooo enjoy. ^_^

Chapter 2

District 1 – Sherlock POV

Flay Applebreeze strolled forward his hand twirling around and around in the glass ball. Taking an awfully long time to pick up a piece of paper, eventually his hand snagged a piece of paper.

"Amelie Smithson"

The crowed parted around a young girl. 15 years old. Her brown hair pulled back into a rough pony tail. Confident. She would have volunteered anyway. She hurried onto the stage, eagerly shaking hands with the escort Flay, the mentors Cashmere and Gloss, terrible names but I can't talk, and of course the_ mayor_. My brother Mycroft Holmes.

Flay moved over towards the boys reaping ball. His hand dipping in and out quickly as if it was burned…or bitten. He opened the piece of paper, his eyes quickly scanning the paper, his eyes flicked to my brother quickly. I almost missed it. Sympathy. It's me.

"Sherlock Holmes"

I walked on stage, no emotions. Silence. No volunteers. My peers lucky to get rid of the freak I suppose. Me. Sherlock Holmes. Genius. Sociopath. Freak. Always two steps ahead. Be prepared to die.

District 2 – Irene POV

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

I ran onto stage. Glory. I will win. I have nothing left anyway. My parents taken away by peace keepers. I will win. Irene Adler _Victor._

They moved onto the boys. Before the escort could even place her hand into the ball.

"I might as well volunteer…" A boy drawled.

He strolled onto stage.

James Moriarty.

Shit.

District 7 – Greg POV

"Gregory Lestrade"

I walked onto the stage. My head held high. I am not afraid. I will die. I am not afraid.

Tears spring to my eyes when I look over to molly. Poor defenceless little Molly Hooper, crying her eyes out. When they leave us alone, I will have to hug her. To do everything in my power to protect her.

District – 8 third person POV

"Sally Donavan"

A young girl with curly black walks on stage. She bursts into open tears with no one to comfort her.

"Jonathan Anderson"

A short boy of 17 walks onto the stage, His slightly green skin, shows he is close to being sick.

John POV

I sat beside Haymitch, the smell of the white liquor burning my nostrils.

"..That...guy...and…that…guy" Haymitch said his voice slurred with alcohol. He pointed out the boys from 1 and 2. "And her..." the girl from 2 "but especially…him" his gaze drifted over the boy from 2 again. "Watch...out for…him"

Haymitch tumbled of the chair, the alcohol finally getting to him. When he was able to pull himself up I punched him in the face. There is no need for drunks in this competion. Rather it's the tribute or mentor. Without him sober my and Airmet. I looked at the small girl looking at me with frightened eyes. We haven't got a chance.


	3. First Impressions

An: HEYYYYYYYY! Thank you for the review UtopiaForAll! HUNGERLOCK! Thanks for all alerts and favourites! I know what happens so. I have thought this out and it fits along with the story of the hunger games. Well enjoy the first chapter. The characters may seem a little ooc, but if you thin bout it they have been raised in different situations and etc etc et blah. No flames please this is my first proper fanfic with chapters and stuff. ENJOY!

Chapter 3 – First Impressions

John POV

Blinding Light, floods the compartment. We step of the train into the capitol sunlight. Airmet waves to the crowd while I stare around us. Massive. A thousand district 12s could probably fit quite comfily in this platform, well not this platform but in this part of the city. Airmet's eyes are red. She never stops shaking poor girl. She cries herself to sleep every night. I heard her. It's quite hard not to. I know how she feels, _**alone**_ in this sea of fake colours, people and politics, our sorry excuse for a ruling city.

Oddly dressed people with painted faces and hair which are so obviously wigs, point and cheer with excited voices. It makes me sick, like we are _celebrities._ Far from it, But I still smile and wave. As Haymitch says one may be rich.

Lying on what seems to be a torture table; supposedly _my _prep team pluck and pull at me. Like a plucked turkey. Lying naked on a table waiting to be cooked. They soon dart out of the room without a word. I assume they are fetching the stylist. I look at myself in the mirror, under all that grime and coal dust that never seems to shift. I am glad to see me. The boy who had a loving family is still there on the outside anyway. He's gone otherwise.

The Stylist waltzes in the height of capitol fashion. Massive brightly coloured wig. In this case it is bright orange. It seems so heavy I am surprised her neck hasn't broken. Diamantine. What a name. Sounds like a cheap diamond.

"I have a lot planned for this opening ceremony but I think we should stray from the traditional route. Look at the tools used instead of the by-product"

My eyes widen

"You're going to be a _Pickaxe_!"

Sherlock POV

"I am NOT wearing that!" I shouted throwing the outfit to the floor. It was a luxury material suit covered in diamonds. In _pink. __**Pink. Not a Chance.**_

I suppose the version for Amelie isn't that bad. A floor length ballroom gown studded in pink diamonds.

"I will wear what **I want! **Not what _you _tell me to wear." I lift my coat and my scarf off the floor pulling my collar up towards the non-existent wind. I move towards the door. When my stylist Carmel grabs me in tears but I can see it an idea flashing in her eyes.

"Then let's see what we can you with _your _outfit."

Bad idea but it's better than defying the capitol. Actually executions looking a lot better than starving to death in an arena. She pulls me back into the room. Too late.

John POV.

The opening music begins. Blasted all over the capitol, all over the country through the television screens. The massive doors slide open. Crowds line the streets like every year. The tributes from district 1 ride out in the chariot. They are always the favourites, every year beautiful costumes that shine and shimmer in the artificial light. This is something completely different what so ever.

The girl's hair is fanned back in the non-existent wind. Her navy blue dress lights up. She smiles and waves beautiful almost.

The boy…

Wearing a Navy blue coat that floats up behind him like a cape studded with reflective shards like glass that shimmer and shine like a thousand diamonds. His collar turned up, like he is cold. He is cold, as in his personality every tribute that walks through these gates there is fear in their eyes volunteer or not. Always fear not him just some unknown force behind his glass like eyes. A computer, no soul. Then it hits me, he is the most dangerous person in this tournament. He is the one that will come out alive. Not me, not the boy from 2, _Him._

Me and Airmet standing here in our _ridiculous_ costumes. Pickaxes. Honestly. We are almost as bad as the people from 7, trees. Almost as bad.

Our horses pull our chariots right up to President Snow's mansion. The president gives us a pre-recorded welcome. When the national anthem ends. They do a flick around all the tributes faces but in the dying light the cameras find it hard to take there eyes of the still glowing pair from 1.

Once our chariots have finished the final lap of the city circle we enter the training centre. The doors close. Our home for the next week or so. More like a prison.


	4. Training

**An:Hey...so I havent updated in a while! DONT KILL ME! I am starting my GCSEs lost of work but i will update when i can! Lol! I thought I was being all creative with the district 12 costumes and then I was reading a Sherlock/hunger games fic out of boredom…and there tributes were pickaxes! Fail! Thanks to everyone that had read/reviewed/favourite/alerted/accidentally clicked on this story/ or has been forced to read this! (My friends!) REVIEWS ARE MY LIFE! Please read and review without reviews fanficiton is pointless to writers and I know most of you would agree with me! Enjoy this chapter and anything you want to request in this fic…feel free to review! No flames but constructive criticism **_**Very welcome!**_

Chapter 4 –

Sherlock POV

We sat around massive table. Cashmere, Gloss, Flay and of course, Amelie and me, Disgusting Really. Amelie sat stuffing her face with nearly everything on the table. A thick soup filled with some kind of unimportant vegetable that I must have deleted. Salad, Lamb chops and mint sauce, mashed potatoes, a chocolate cake. It was worse on the train, she disappeared to be sick only to come back and eat just as much. Flay had to get up and leave because she was upsetting his poor stomach.

I picked at delicately at the food on my plate, barely eating anything as usual. Then again who could eat. This is the first chance I will have analyse the other tributes.

Amelie Jumped up from the table looking green. As I said disgusting really.

John POV

After a rather rude awakening, (GET UP GET UP ITS A BIG BIG BIG DAY!) I was making my way with Airmet (She had told me to call her air, as she doesn't like her name) to the training centre.

We were one of the last to arrive, the last to arrive was one. The boy was looking rather alert, his cold eyes analysing my every move. The girl was looking rather green and sickly and I am pretty sure that stain on her shirt is not milk.

As I do not have any talents or experience, Haymitch told be to take my time at each station. Get the feel of things, and to take Airmet with me. It is _very _unlikely that she will have any experience.

Atala one of the main trainers coaxes us to try everything, and not to fight with other tributes, but she also informs us of the main stations to attend. If we want to survive that it.

The career pack jolts into action as soon as she freed us. Running to the stands with knifes and swords and whole arrays of shiny weapons. Typical. I grab airs hand and drag her off towards the edible plant stations. Might as well learn something useful.

Sherlock POV

As soon as a walk into the training centres gym, I notice at least eight tributes who will join the career pack, 10 who will probably die in the first day 6 that will put up at fight and one person that is quite a challenge.

Amelie stands beside me reeking of sick. She threw up all over her bathroom apparently. Lucky I have a _very _strong stomach.

When have gained the needed information from the other tributes, I scan 12. The boy that is, I get the basics, well more than the basics. Orphan. Sisters a drunk. Etc, but there is something, something about him. One not to be underestimated.

The same can be said from James Moriarty. Seems like a typical career, Leader of the pack, but I have to keep my eyes peeled for him.

As soon as we are released the other careers rush to the weapons stand. Stupid. Show your strengths. Thank you for _that _though.

I see both of 12 walk over to the edible plant station. Good place to start. I follow.

John POV

A soon as Air and I have sat down at the Plants station. One of the Careers Join us. The boy from one. He sits down silently beside me and opens the book on plants and studies it intently. Air looks across the table positively fuming.

"Tell him to _move_" She hisses to me.

I stare back positively shocked. I have never saw this side of her, Then I realise even little 12 year olds can have an evil temper.

"Excuse me," I mutter to the boy "Wouldn't It be better if you moved?"

He raises his head slowly. "Why should _I _move?" Then he goes back to studying the book.

"We were here _FIRST" _I hiss my voice rising slightly. I can see the boy ready to argue back when the trainer steps in.

"Now, Now boys! There is plenty of room at the station! You know if your start fighting I will have to remove you both for the remainder of the day!"

We settle down after that.

Sherlock POV

The Trainer whose name I never bothered to learn, Told us about wild herbs and berry's and went on and on about not eating berries that we did not 100% recognise. Jesus. It is common sense to anyone with a Brain, but then again many of these tributes don't have a Brain.

The Boy and girl worked together, conversing and laughing. Obviously a setup, either by their mentor to say that they are future allies or by them to annoy me.

I never have friends anyway. Not going to bother me.

John POV

Air and I flick from station to station for the rest of the day. Fire making, Shelter making, Camouflage. Always accompanied by the Boy from one. He even sits beside us at lunch, not saying a word but receiving many glares if not from us from the other careers.

After Lunch Air and I (and the boy) move to archery. I decide that if he is going to follow us around for the next 3 days I might as well make us a potential ally.

"Hey sorry we got on off on the wrong foot. I'm John Watson"

He cocked his head to the side and stared at me. Not saying a word.

"What's your name?" I ask.

The claxon goes off signalling the end of training. He lifts his last arrow from the stand and fires it directly at the head of the dummy, the arrow right through its head.

He walks off without a word. I stare after him. He sort of catches himself and spins around looking at me, He says in a low baritone voice like velvet,

"The name is Sherlock Holmes"

**An: I wanted to continue, and do the whole training centre with scores and things, but I had to leave it here. It felt like it had to be left here I shall update soon ^_^****  
****An: What type of arena would you like to see? A forest? A desert? An abandoned London? Review and tell me ^_^**


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